


You Never Really Know Your Friends From Your Enemies Until The Ice Breaks

by RoseHeart



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action, Alaska, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluffy?, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHeart/pseuds/RoseHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Jaime & Brienne Holiday Fest Prompt: One of them falls through the ice on a lake.  The other comes to the rescue.</p><p>The title is an Eskimo proverb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Never Really Know Your Friends From Your Enemies Until The Ice Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt was requested by Amaryllis and I am grateful for the inspiration!
> 
> As always, I have to thank Coraleeveritas for helping me through this! One shots and modern stories are two of my weaknesses and two of her many strengths, which is why we balance each other so well. I would not have had it in me to complete this story, though it certainly took root in my mind, if it was not for her.
> 
> And thank you to Sandwichesyumyum for taking the time to read this and to make me smile with every comment she leaves. She is also quite educational. Look up "dowse". It will blow your mind.
> 
> I hope that all of the wonderful people who are reading this have been having, and will continue to have, a lovely holiday! This fandom is one of the things that has made me happy and kept me sane this year and I hope it has done the same for you all!

Brienne drove along the lone paved road in downtown Talkeetna with the window of her truck rolled low, letting the chilled air sting her cheeks and kiss her eyelashes.  It had been a long day, made more interminable by having to rise before the sun even attempted to shove its swelling body up into the horizon, the laborious journey which followed coating the snow in blazing rainbow crystals, before it heaved its bulk back down over the mountains well before dinner time.  And it was even later than that before she could leave. 

But winter and its dwindling gifts of daylight were a welcome season to the girl that had spent her entire life in Alaska.  The snowbirds had retreated south, leaving nothing but empty ski slopes and hiking trails and a ruffle of feathers.  Now it was quiet and cold.  It was home. And for this short time, it felt like it was all hers. 

As she passed through and turned onto the gravel of her road, listening to her tires suck and spit out the loose pebbles, sounding like an erratic wind chime clanging in a storm, she looked up.  The town was encased in a net of heavy Christmas lights, twinkling fireflies to light the dark path to her small log house, prancing reindeer glowing in snowy yards and ropes of icicles haloing porches and roofs. But they were nothing but dim stars compared to the streaks of greens and blues, with the blush of pink, which set the night to a prism and turned Denali into a dragon breathing colored flames. The aurora was a wild and living thing, especially this early night, and Brienne wondered if it mimicked the restlessness in her own heart, mocking her with its flares of vivid emeralds. 

The warm glow of her porch light greeted her as she coasted up her drive. With a sigh, she cut the ignition and grabbed her pack from the otherwise empty passenger seat. There was silence now that her truck was not kicking up gravel and the engine was not struggling to stay warm. But occasionally, it was sliced through with the sharp cut of a dog’s yip or the blanketing stillness was burrowed beneath the soft, niggling call of a Great Horned Owl.  Not so long ago, Brienne would have been annoyed by the sounds disturbing her pure, crisp evening air.  But now, she welcomed the reminder that she was not alone in this world of darkness and snow. 

She added her own nightly noises with the bang of her door, the bump of her cabinets, the click of her lights, and the clang of her dishes as she busied herself with bringing life back into her one bedroom cabin, getting a fire started as she waited to hear the shrill whistle of her kettle. She padded back and forth through the house, ignoring the still dark and chilly bedroom.  She had tried to make it feel soft and inviting by setting up a reading chair, investing in a large, firm mattress piled with pillows and furs, but even with the fireplace roaring, she often found herself falling asleep on her couch, avoiding the bed that was too big even for her tangle of legs and knot of arms.  And no matter how warm she fought to make it, she would have to set it in flames for it to ever burn her as deeply as her dreams did.  Waking was always a douse of cold water, finding herself huddled up against one side like she was welcoming a body to curve against her. 

As she picked up her cup of tea and cradled it between her hands, the dogs barked more insistently, drawing her to the wall of windows that looked out onto the frozen lake, the shore of which was just beyond her back deck. Through the sprinkle of stars and the occasional burst of ribbons of light above and the blink of Christmas lights from the houses skirting the lake, Brienne could make out a lone figure corralling a team of dogs onto their sled.  She scowled into her steaming mug, hissing angrily when the hot liquid burned her tongue, igniting her mouth and licking flames down her throat. 

Coughing, she stared with watering eyes at the cursedly handsome and talented Jaime Lannister as he slid effortlessly and loped along the smooth, glinting ice while he lazily chased after a husky, so white she disappeared in the snow, bounding amongst the lines.  He was not supposed to be there, not in Alaska, not in Talkeetna, and most certainly not in the house only two acres away from Brienne’s own sanctuary, haunting her steps with the ghost of the smell of his skin, the feel of his soft hair, and his warmth.  _He had felt so warm_. 

As Brienne peered uninvited into his play, she recalled coming across him just that March, while she had volunteered herself and her Cessna 206 to be part of the Iditarod Air Force.  She had heard mumblings of him, a rich man from the lower forty-eight, bored and pretty, hoping to prove something by racing.  But, when she had met him at an early checkpoint with his supplies, she had found green eyes of endless youth, glistening wildly behind golden, aged skin only crinkling at the corners of his lashes and at his perfect, red lips as he smiled at her. 

He was full of breathless taunts that steamed in the frigid, biting air, laughter that hung on the breeze and wrapped itself around her legs as she retreated from him.  He looked alive and at ease, nestled in thick furs with his dogs weaving between his knees, gazing up at him with rabid adoration.  _Dogs know_. And though this pack turned out to be one of the loudest and most meddlesome in the layovers, they hounded their master’s tracks and heeled at the first rumble of his deep voice. 

Even now, Brienne could see through the glass and the trees that Jaime was like the beasts he had raised.  Through the thickness of the space from where she safely hid and watched him, she could hear the happy yips that had greeted her when she stepped out of her truck.  And with it lingered the soft chuckle of his laughter, the one that floated out of him when the cameras and the reporters were not asking him questions about his father and his reputation and, she blushed remembering the pretty one that had eyed him unashamedly, his pant size. 

She had to grudgingly admit that he was _good_. Though cockiness sloughed off him like layers of snow during the break up, he kept back when the trails were rough and the dogs would struggle.  But he urged them on with feral abandon when he found a lull in the weather or a patch of decent snow.  He knew it all like a second skin, like the familiar touch of a lover’s caress, and howled at the night sky along with his dogs.  

It took much longer for Brienne to allow the thought to niggle underneath her coat and keep her heart pattering out of rhythm that not only could he mush, but that he was an Alaskan, deep inside.  He belonged in this wild, untamed expanse, without rules and brimming with danger and the unknown. The native women had even begun to call him Cheechako, though he had not yet taken up residence in Alaska. 

 _They had known the land would call him back._  

And, suddenly, as she was hiding her stare behind the lip of her cup, she watched as that land cracked and splintered, the rent so loud it reached her across the distance and above the barks, and opened its mouth to suck in Jaime, snatching him from her sight for a breathless, heart wrenching second. When he popped his head back up, arms flailing, Brienne dropped her mug, the shattering of porcelain drowned out by the blood screaming in her ears as she struggled to pull open the sliding doors. 

It was just like in March.  After the long stretch, he had collapsed at the finish, a slump of bones and weary muscle, and Brienne had been one of those that had carried him to the medical center, the frantic whine and cry of his pack ringing hollowly in her ears as she tasted their fear on her tongue.  Despite being his tall target every moment he was not in his sled, Jaime had been genuinely interested in her, nothing but a backwoods bush pilot, ugly and abandoned, to others outside of her town.  He had been curious, perhaps _too_ inquisitive, as his heavy emerald gaze had left her gasping like she was cresting Denali. But Brienne had found herself looking forward to checkpoints and layovers as she rode the tides of his adrenalin and easy, charming smiles. 

Now, though, the patio was slick with a sheet of ice and she slipped and collided with the stairs, leaping down them to crunch into the soft snow. With her fogging breath clouding her gaze, she followed the sounds of the dogs, frantic and alarmed, growing nearer as she strained desperately to hear the splash of water. 

“Jaime!” she cried through a throat tight with terror. 

With the last memory of him after the race being his vacant stare when he had woken up, hardly ever leaving her face as if he had never seen it before, Brienne had thought that was the last of his jeers and grins for her, and of whatever had seemed to crash them together.  But, then, not even allowing her a year to wash away the feel of him in her arms, Jaime had shown up _months_ too early for the next race.  While he should have taken up temporary residence in Anchorage or one of its nearby satellite towns, he had instead bought a large log cabin that was on the native’s side of Talkeetna, away from the hotels and with easy access to Denali. He was once again smooth, cutting words, white, sharp teeth, and hard eyes.  But, when Brienne would look away, as he wanted her to, she would catch him slip and simply stare at her.  And the thought of him gazing at her from across the lake continued to keep her from going to her bedroom at night. 

She stopped in her tracks when her feet landed on the hard, yet fragile, lake, years of training and rescues kicking back her scattered wits. Edging close and slowly, she ignored the sled and the pack that came to greet her, sniffing in recognition and trying to drag her further to where she thanked every god and Santa Claus that Jaime was still moving. 

As he managed to throw himself at the jagged edge of the hole, he looked up into the night with eyes rimmed with tears of ice, the green of the spruce cupping the lake meeting the blue of the water hidden below, clear and pure, as their stares collided.  He said her name, though she could not hear it, just a simple wrap of his tongue and tremor of his lips in a beating pattern that she had memorized before. 

But, at that moment, she was getting too close to the thin layer he had fallen through and she dropped to hug the frozen skim of the lake. The sled was within reach, muzzles and soft teeth still attempting to guide her, and she snatched at the off trail steering rope at the head, deftly unwrapping it.  Shivering as the wet, frigidness beneath her slipped across her chest and thighs, chilling her, but no more than the worry as she watched Jaime’s struggles weaken, she kept going. 

“Jaime! Hold on!” _Please_. 

The husky, the one that he had just been happily racing as he had half-heartedly strapped in his team, was circling the hole as Brienne untangled the line. She was whining and pacing, brilliant blue eyes darting around, treading paws in and even trying to get her mouth around Jaime’s collar as he barely bobbed above the freezing water. The other dogs mimicked her distress, but thankfully stayed clear.  Tangled up in the heavy sled as they were, they hovered near Brienne’s heels, howls mingling with the others’. 

“Jaime!” she called again, hoping to catch his wandering, distant gaze. He lolled his head, gasping shallowly, and Brienne took the moment to throw the rope.  It landed too short of him, but the movement focused him enough, though he had made no attempt to grab it.  “Take it!” 

She crawled closer, listening for the warning cracks that would be heard before she saw the fingers of fissures skating towards her.  When the only sounds that assaulted her ears were their heavy breathing and the cry of wolves, Brienne shouted to him again and tossed the coil like a lasso.  The moment Jaime wrapped his fingers around the end, she pulled with all the strength she had, sitting up and then falling back, grunting and groaning at his weight and the water logged into his clothing which was possessively tugging him back into the deep.

“Hold on.  Hold on. Hold on.” She chanted like a prayer, like a mantra, like a lifeline that could float from her chapped lips to wrap around him and help pull him out.  She breathed it, in and out, as she bound the rope around the sled, peeking back to make sure that Jaime was still holding it, afraid to find the space behind her empty and the water swirling ominously.  But he had twined lengths of the line around his wrist and, though he was splayed across the ice, unmoving, he was still there.  “Hold on.  Hold on. Hold on.” 

In seconds that dripped like molasses, her heels fighting for chinks in the ice to grind against as she struggled with the drag of Jaime’s body, she looped her end of the rope around the sled, tying it tight, despite the vibrating tremor from her fingers to her teeth, and yelled. “Hike! Hike!” 

The dogs turned and sped off towards the shore, slipping and scrambling on the lake, a mess of lines and paws and a cacophony of barks like a flock of geese. But they knew what to do, driven by instinct and desire and a primal need to _run._  

When they had dragged Jaime almost up to Brienne’s porch stairs, she finally hollered “Whoa!” as she chased after them, the snowy husky circling the sled and snapping at her pack, urging them on.  It was a swirl of snow and cursing as she unhooked the lines and unwrapped Jaime, a relieved sob of exhaustion when he moaned as she hefted him up beneath his arms, tripping over dogs and steps as she scooted backwards towards her open door. 

“Wench,” Jaime moaned, barely having the strength to lift his head from his chest and tilt it back on to her shoulder. 

“What?” Brienne slipped on the landing, too lost in the frozen shards of ice capturing his gold hair, like a glass case made for a sleeping prince. It was longer than it had been in March, she realized, noting how the shock and the cold were making her go a little nuts.  _Why am I thinking of this, or how soft his beard must be, now?_  

“The dog…” 

“What?” They were close to the fireplace now and she was hardly paying attention to what he was saying, simply grateful that he was talking at all, that his tongue was still obeying his command behind blue, plump lips. She dropped him to the woven rug before the hearth and began pulling at his laces like a lawn mower starter, elbowing frantic, snuffling noses out of her way. And then she realized what he was saying.  “Oh. For the love of…” Yanking off his boots and pulling at his sodden socks, she threw them by the door as she stepped back outside.  “Wench!” she hollered. And, sure enough, the snowy husky that had been poking around her property came bounding up the stairs and dashing into the cabin, Brienne slamming the slider shut behind her. 

Focusing on hurriedly getting him out of his cold and wet clothes, she ignored the soft smile on Jaime’s mouth as she settled back to her knees beside him. He helped her to pull his arms out of his jacket and sweater, occasionally pausing to stroke the dog who was whining softly by his head, her blue gaze turning her fur to ice. But Brienne paid little mind as the touch of his skin was a shock to her fingertips, like a jolt from a socket. _He’s so cold._  

When he could not bend his fingers enough, or stop them from shaking wildly, to unbutton his pants, Brienne shoved his hands away so that he could finish removing his shirt while she yanked out his legs, telling herself that the heat on her cheeks was from the fire and not the exposure of rippled torso and firm, hairy thighs below his boxers. 

It was a quick glimpse, a flash and then the echo as she blinked, still catching the bright relief of his body on the backs of her eyelids, before she turned to snatch the blanket from the couch.  He wrapped it around himself with a soft, deep, coughing “Thank you, Brienne” and then she was mumbling about finding him some dry clothes, scrambling for an excuse to flee to her cold bedroom like a squirrel clawing up the flaking, giving bark of a pine. 

With clumsy, thick fingers, she quickly lit the fire, pushing back the chill as if kicking off covers, creating a warm glow that danced with the shadows of the darkness, playing across her skin as she blindly pulled out a sweater, sweatpants, and socks that would easily fit Jaime’s lean form. Ignoring the inviting warmth and light now painting her plump bed in an inviting swirl of color, she wandered back to her living room, where Jaime was still wrapped up in her blanket, staring into the flickering flames while his dogs roved the house, a scattering of heartbeats and soft breaths that settled into the unused and cold corners of the cabin. 

“Here,” she whispered, afraid to shatter the comfortable silence that had snuck up between the floorboards, like a slowly flooding river. 

She turned around with a flare of a blush as the blanket slipped from his chest as he reached up to take the clothes, their fingers entwining, pruned skin and dry flesh molding together. 

“You’re so warm.” Jaime’s voice drifted over her shoulder, sinking to her toes and spreading the rise of blood across the surface of her body. She said nothing as she listened to the whisper of cotton and the chatter of teeth as he struggled to command his frozen limbs.  Itching to help him, Brienne caged her fingers in her palms so they would not find their way into his hair, wrapping around his arms, to tug and hold. “You can sit now. My honor is not besmirched.” 

With a huff of a laugh, she tentatively sat down within the skirting pool of light and warmth from the fireplace, surprised to find one of the dogs shift to nestle his head in to her lap, nudging and whining until she stroked his ear. Another, who had been prowling the perimeter, decided to take advantage of the heat and the humans and curled up by her feet. 

Jaime watched her with his keen, green gaze, a smile twitching the webbing at the corner of his eyes.  He looked peaceful and perfect, sitting on her rug, still wrapped up in her blanket, with her clothes peeking out from the folds.  “Tyrion and Ser Sniff like you,” he rumbled, words melting into a chuckle that Brienne could feel in her hips. 

“You named a dog after your brother and…?” Brienne arched an eyebrow. 

“And my nephew named the other one,” he finished.  “I don’t care to name dogs after cities or gods or some random meaning.” Brienne had to smile at that.  Jaime was a different kind of racer and clearly had snatched up any opportunity to defy the traditions of the sport.  “Tyrion, the human one, Tommen, and Myrcella love it.  And I can’t help but get a bit of pleasure from yelling at _Tywin_ to mush.” 

“And Wench?” she asked, nodding towards the young husky that was content by Jaime’s side. 

“I got her from Clegane’s Kennels.  She’s got the heart of a lead, for sure, though she’s a bit too young and wild now. I named her myself, though. First time.” 

“Jaime,” Brienne sighed.  “What were you doing out on that ice?” 

Jaime waved his hand like a simple swipe could erase the smear of his near death. “Training, of course. Or did I distract you too much for you to realize I was trying to get Wench used to the ice?” 

 _There it is_. Brienne rolled her eyes in an excuse not to look at him while he teased her with white teeth and golden, raised brows. “I see you were trying to teach her to swim, too, then?” 

A sudden, harsh laugh burst from the warming confines of Jaime’s chest, a bark that startled some of his pack.  “There’s always some danger in the game.” 

This time, Brienne truly felt the urge to toss her gaze towards her ceiling, looking at the chunky beams above her, but thinking of the man grinning beside her, his feral masculinity and challenging glare trying to claw under her skin. “That lake was newly frozen and it’s too warm for it to thicken properly.  Why are you even _here_?” 

“The cold must be getting to you,” Jaime snorted.  “I fell into a lake.  You saved me.” 

“You know what I meant.  In Talkeetna.” 

Jaime shrugged, taking his turn to look away from her, giving her a chance to steal another glance of his skin, gold and blushing with the heat from the fire, speckled with silver from his beard, and a mane of silken curls framing his ears and neck.  His strong fingers were tugging and toying at the strands of the blanket, each pull a jerk to her breathing.  “I’m sure you’ve laughed at all of those old men that rambled about the long stretch, about the things they’ve seen during the nights and days of nothing but white and waking.” 

“There’s nothing funny about that,” Brienne frowned.  She had flown out to enough tundras and valleys to rescue crazed and terrified recreationists to know that the cold expanse of deadly pure nothing could be more terrifying than a dark forest full of noises. Hiding in the bleakness were fears and images that the mind had stuffed inside, lured out by a canvas to paint in lurid detail, captured by the cold and endless light.  And the last leg of the race was one known to induce the most infamous strains of madness. 

“Of course you would take pity on the delusional.” His bright emeralds swirled back to regard her, their sheen absorbing the shimmer of the fire like the Christmas lights sparkling against the green aurora.  “But pity is just as cutting as laughter.” 

“You think _I_ don’t know that?” Brienne snapped, upsetting Tyrion dozing in her lap.

“Let’s not play wounded hearts,” Jaime snarled back, his voice as cold as his plummet through the lake.  “I came up here to race because I hadn’t _stopped_ running.  And when I left, I was doing it again.” 

“From what you saw in the stretch?” 

Jaime ran his hand along Wench’s fur, the white fluff flattening against his palm and then blooming between his fingers and Brienne could almost feel the sensation herself as she watched the young dog peer up at him with her beguiling gaze, soulful and open, innocent and eager.  “Snow is white.  But out there, it’s blue.  So blue.” 

He looked back at her when Wench rested her head down to the pillow of her large paws, regarding Brienne with a plea in his eyes, one that held her breath as if she was planning on taking her own plunge into the deep. And when she looked anywhere but her own haunting long stretch of forever, the path of _home_ , lost in the eddy of wishes, she found his other hand, the one not burrowed in pure clouds, was inching upwards, hovering in the warming space. 

“You must be tired,” she murmured.  “You can stay here.” 

With the same dark stare that followed her as she writhed and struggled beneath it, he said, “I had planned on it.” And she did not know if he meant the night or for all of the nights. 

When she unfolded her legs and stood again, he followed this time. A trail of soft wool pooling and hushing across rugs and wood, he silently shadowed her as she walked to the bedroom.  The fire had caught on the unused and dry logs, snapping merrily and Brienne retreated to the adjoining bathroom to fill hot water bottles from her sink, listening to the sweep of covers, the sound tinged on the edges with her fear of what she would find when she returned. 

Nestling the churning bags felt like trying to carrying the rolling sea in her arms, but stepping back into her bedroom to find Jaime Lannister burrowed under her blankets made the tumble of the water bottles seem like a still pond compared to the storm of her stomach.  He was facing her, a peak of head above the furs, hair splashed against the grey of her pillows, eyes closed and mouth relaxed.  And suddenly, she was the intruder in her own home. 

Wench and a hound Brienne knew was named Daven came bounding in to the room, not even pausing before they launched themselves on to the bed and curled up like shakes of smoke on the end of it.  Caught in the web between waking and sleep, Jaime only tossed his feet to the side to let them settle.  It seemed like a picture from a magazine, celebrating the holidays with some infamous, handsome celebrity, all glossy and perfect and posed. She could hardly connect the image swimming enticingly before her, ripples pulling her closer, with the room that she had avoided for so many months.  Now, it was where her heart sank, her feet wriggling to run along the soft rugs she had tossed to keep her toes from the cold floorboards, her fingers scampering to drag along the wool of the oversized armchair, wishing there was another across from it, and hunting down the cotton covers beneath the blankets. Her legs were aching to entangle with another’s, arms held in and close to her chest by the weight of muscles and sinew, of heavy, even breaths echoing of peace. 

Then, Jaime snuffled, reminding her that she was hovering in her own doorway, hugging two water bottles so close to her body the heat was burning through her shirt. She hastily crept in, ignoring how she wanted to complete the things she had been fantasizing about moments before, and roughly stuffed one bottle under the tight sheet around the mattress by Jaime’s feet and the other above his head.  Watching him warily, like she had stumbled upon a wild lion in the savanna, she slid off the throw he had cast aside for the thicker, warmer blankets on her bed, and dragged it with her, clutching it tightly to her chest as she backed slowly away.  But Jaime hardly stirred, simply emitting a contented grunt that made Brienne force herself to keep moving away, his hands reaching up to wrap the other pillow between his arms, pulling it into him and curving his body around it while he buried his nose deep into the down. 

Finally tearing herself from the sight, Brienne silently shut the door, closing off the temptation to return to her bedroom, to weave between the sheets and yank away that pillow to replace it with herself.  Instead, she pulled the blanket to her nose, mimicking Jaime, and inhaled the scent of pure, cold ice, the faint deep embers of the burning logs, the breath of dog, and the musk of man, dark and intoxicating, mingling with the smells of nature like a vine hugging a branch, alive and tight. 

She held it close as she returned to her familiar bed, the couch, and spread out her long legs beneath the blanket.  The other members of the pack had been called by the warmth of the fire and they rested in swirling huddles around her rug, save for Tyrion, who managed to situate himself in the space between her bent knees and the back of the couch, head propped on her hip, watching her. 

Exhaustion finally called to her, as it did most nights, rocking her even in the stillness, promises of dreams and nothingness and worlds away from home, too enthralling to fight against.  So, she let go, warmer than she had been in years, cocooned in the heady spice of Jaime, and with auroras skating across the backs of her eyelids. She truly let go. 

And when she woke again, it was to a heaviness on her chest, curling heat flaming her cheek, and the welcoming aroma of crushed beans. Cracking apart bleary, crusted lashes, she saw it was still dark, though that meant it could be night or just before midmorning.  The fire had settled to a simmer and some of the dogs had already risen, despite Tyrion having snuck up to the comfort of her torso sometime in the hunt for sleep, and refusing to move. 

There was also a cup floating beside her head, Jaime weaving it in and out of her vision, controlling it like a snake charmer, and she let herself be drawn to sit up on the couch and greedily take the bait.  Her fingers draped around the warm porcelain, basking in the heat emanating from within, as welcome as sunlight.  Sipping, she smiled around the lip, tasting the dip of cream and the hint of sugar.  She and Jaime had shared many breaks for coffee as he refueled at checkpoints and he knew her flavor by now, just as she knew he was drinking his black with, if he had found it in her cupboards, just a shake of cinnamon, like the woodsy scent of his skin. 

“Good morning,” he rasped, smiling as he sat in her clothes, one rolled up sleeve draped over the back of the couch as he leaned towards her, not moving when he edged to where her toes burrowed into his thigh. And she thrilled at hearing his first fledgling sounds of the day, hoarse like the grate of harnesses against steel bars.  He cleared his throat and took another swallow from his cup, all the while watching her with a smile wrapped around the edge. 

She smiled back.  They stayed in silence, both worried to break the fragile settling of first snow that seemed to blanket her home, one that would tumble and slump to the earth the moment their voices of leaving, of starting their day, of never returning, echoed along the hollow valley of the space they had left between them.  So, they held their breaths and dared to move.  

But Brienne had to stretch, so she used the excuse of taking their empty mugs back to the kitchen to survey the changes in her home.  There were dogs outside and in, some scrounging at the bits of breakfast in their travel bowls, while others had taken to sport and play, roving for critters to chase in the dark or for another quiet corner to curl up in. She snatched the briefest of glances into her room, absorbing a tussle of sheets, a spray of pillows, and her socks and sweatshirt tossed on the chair, before her pause and her widening smile could be noticed. 

Jaime was sitting near the middle of the couch when she returned, arm still thrown around it, as he tried to fiddle with her remote to turn on the unused television above the fireplace.  Without thought, she took it as she sat, closing the distance between them, close enough to lean in and be embraced by the circle of his limb and chest, close enough to rest her head on the welcoming jut of his shoulder, close enough to lay a hand on his splayed knee.  But, she merely hit the button on the remote and handed it back to Jaime, sitting just outside of his touch until he stretched his hand out and back. 

There was no need to train today.  And Brienne was not on call.  So, they sat, flicking through channels and making short, unimportant comments. Like they did this every time. Like this was what their lives were. Running and flying. Chasing and landing. Returning, home to happy barks and yips, flurries of tongues and pants, to smiles and touches. To a warm bed. 

“Brienne,” Jaime murmured, turning to her, staying with her. He moved closer again so that he could have wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  “Merry Christmas.” 

She tilted her head, ever so slightly, and sighed.  _Maybe it could be._ “Merry Christmas, Jaime.”  

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing and I know nothing.


End file.
